Fighting Irish

by Katy Regnery

  “Of course! He borrowed Jamie’s tux.”

  “My pills were here. I’d left them here by mistake. Forgotten them…and we—I don’t know…one thing led to another. I didn’t have condoms in my apartment.” And they had practically ripped each other’s clothes off when they’d gotten back to her place after the party.

  Cheryl flashed her friend a worried look. “What are you going to do?”

  It took Brittany a beat to understand what Cheryl was asking. “Oh! Keep it, of course. I just…”

  “What do you think Rory will say?”

  She thought back to one of their first conversations when she asked if he wanted kids and he said, Yeah, of course. I’m Irish. It’s one of our specialties.

  But saying he wanted kids someday and having a baby next May were two different things. She bit her bottom lip. “Well, I hope that he’ll…I mean, I hope he’ll want it. The timing isn’t perfect, but we love each other, and I…” Her hands landed on her flat tummy as if beckoned there. “I already love it. The baby.”

  Cheryl put another scoop of salad on her plate, then looked up at Brittany and grinned. “Rory’s a great guy. I bet he’ll be thrilled.”

  “You think?”

  “He’s crazy about you. He’s wicked clannish. Why wouldn’t he be crazy about a baby?”

  Brittany smiled back at her friend and nodded, but her unease lingered, making the day crawl by like molasses. More than anything, she needed to see Rory’s face and tell him what was going on. She hadn’t meant for this to happen, of course, but it had, and they were both responsible.

  As she made the bed in her little apartment after sending some donor-request e-mails on behalf of A Better Tomorrow, it suddenly occurred to her that when she’d least expected it, all of her dreams had suddenly come true: she had a family of friends at Summerhaven, she had true love with Rory, and now, she’d have a baby—the family she’d always longed for…if only Rory wanted it as much as she did.

  As day turned to dusk, she took a drive into town and bought a pregnancy test, split between the swelling of pure joy when the test turned positive and her impatience to share the news with Rory. The minutes ticked by. Five o’clock. Six o’clock. Finally, at seven o’clock, she heard the downstairs door open and slam shut and the sound of his shoes on the stairs.

  She took a deep breath and braced herself, determined not to act weird or blurt out her news, no matter how much her secret begged to be told.

  “Britt?” he called.

  “Up here!”

  He rounded the corner of the stairs into the loft, wearing a suit and tie, the smile on his face so wide, she was practically blinded by it.

  A suit? Now, why was Rory wearing a suit?

  “Where have you been?” she asked breathlessly, hurling herself into his open arms. “What happened?”

  “Something great,” he said, kissing her soundly before pulling away. He pulled one of two chairs from the tiny kitchen table. “Here. Sit down. I’ll tell you everything.”

  She gulped, pushing her own news to the back burner as much as she could to concentrate on his. “Okay.”

  Once she was seated, he started. “In college, I had this idea. Conference centers like Summerhaven.”

  “And you did it,” said Brittany. “You did a great job transitioning Summerhaven from a kids’ camp to conference center.”

  “Thanks. Yeah. I did it here. But that’s not where my idea ended. I wanted to open more than one. One here, outside of Boston. But another outside of Manhattan, and another near Raleigh. Another close to DC. You get it: a collection of camp-style, rustic but luxurious conference and event centers that businesses could use for retreats and team building but that were also available for weddings or—or anniversary parties…”

  Brittany nodded, recalling the day Mrs. Toffle had shared Rory’s idea with her. And Brittany had decided, a long time ago, that if he came to her and shared her idea, she’d offer to be his first investor. She didn’t fear that Rory was only with her for her fortune or connections; she knew him far better than that. And she’d be happy to make his dreams come true, just as he had done for her.

  “Sounds amazing,” she said. “And I’d like to be—”

  “I got it!” he cried, falling to his knees at her feet. “I got the money to do it! I have investors!”

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “I met with Colgate Venture Capital today. And they agreed to fund me. I have 1.3 million dollars to acquire property outside of Raleigh!”

  “Rory!” she exclaimed, reaching for his beaming face and cupping it with her hands. “That’s where you were today? That’s what you were doing? You could have told me!”

  His expression sobered a little as he shook his head. “I couldn’t do that, Britt. I remember what you told me when we met that some men chased after you for your money, and I would never, ever want you—even for a second—to wonder if I had pursued you for a leg up. I needed to have the funding in place before I told you. I need to have something to share with you before I…”

  His eyes—wildly intense—looked into hers, searching them.

  “Before what?” she asked, sliding her hands from his face and clasping them in her lap.

  He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small black box, his breath hitching as he held it out to her and snapped it open to reveal a diamond ring.

  “Before asking you to be my wife.”

  She gasped in surprise, tears filling her eyes as she looked down at the small solitaire, which was much smaller than the previous engagement rings she’d received, yet infinitely more perfect for her in every way because of the man who offered it. “Oh, Rory…”

  “I wanted to be able to provide for you. I mean, I know you’ll always have your own money, and that’s fine. But it was important to me…to have this. For us.”

  She clenched her jaw, trying to keep the tears from falling. This man—this strong, true, smart, beautiful man—had covered every base, placed her and her feelings above everything else in his life, and she was so overwhelmed with love and gratitude, she didn’t think she could speak.

  He plucked the ring from its white velvet bed and took her shaking hand in his. “Brittany Manion, I love you. I remember who you were as a teenager, but I fell in love with the woman you became. Please make me the happiest man on earth and say you’ll marry me.”

  She inhaled sharply as tears coursed down her cheeks.

  Of course she wanted to marry Rory Haven and live happily ever after. But she couldn’t say yes. Not until he knew exactly what he was getting into.

  She took a deep, shuddering breath. “R-Rory.”

  His eyebrows furrowed and his face fell, his breathing audible as he sucked in a breath and held it. He was worried, and she hated that—that she’d stolen his thunder by putting on the brakes for a minute—but she needed to share her news with him before the ring went on her finger. The lasting lesson of her disastrous relationship with Ben was the value of total transparency with her partner. She lifted her chin, grasping for the courage to be forthright and honest and tell Rory about her pregnancy before accepting his proposal.

  “Rory, remember when we first met? Again, I mean? When I first came back here in the spring?”

  He nodded, his eyes wide and worried, his frozen hand still holding up the ring between them.

  “And I asked you…” She gulped. “I asked you if you—if, um, if you wanted kids.”

  His forehead wrinkled as he nodded slowly, still staring at her with that intense, uncertain expression.

  “And you said”—she paused, taking a shaking breath before continuing—“um, you said that you were Irish and—and it was one of your specialties.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I remember. But what does that have to do with—”

  “You may be even better at it than you thought.”

  Closing her mouth, she licked her lips nervously, then reached for the hand holding the ring and drew it to he
r abdomen, covering his hand, and the ring, with her palm.

  “We’re a package deal,” she managed as Rory’s bent head remained focused on their hands. “Me…and…and our…”

  He was staring at her belly, but suddenly his head whipped up. His eyes slammed into hers, scanning them, his breathing faster and faster as a smile bloomed on his face—small at first, then bigger and bigger until it was spread ear to ear. “Britt…mo, mhuirnín…are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  She nodded quickly, her words spilling out. “We’re going to have a baby, Rory. In May.”

  “Brittany!” he cried, standing up, then reaching down to pull her into his arms. He lifted her off the ground, spinning her around and around in the tiny room. “A baby! We made a baby!”

  Laughing and crying at the same time, she held on for dear life and let him celebrate, all of her worries fading away as her husband-to-be reassured her that he was just as delighted about starting a family as she.

  “I know the timing isn’t perfect,” she whispered breathlessly near his ear.

  He stopped twirling her and leaned back, gazing into her brown eyes. “There could never be a bad time for news like this.”

  “I love you,” she murmured, the words spilling from her lips with so much gratitude and awe, she could barely believe the sheer magnitude of her own happiness.

  “I love you too.” Holding her cheeks tenderly, he asked, “Is that a yes?”

  She nodded, holding out her left hand so he could slip the ring on her fourth finger. “That’s definitely a yes.”

  And as he bent his head to hers, capturing her lips in a sweet kiss, Brittany realized that Rory Haven—her teen crush, her true love, her fiancé, and the father of her lucky little baby—would also be her safe haven…forever.

  THE END

  TURN THE PAGE FOR A SNEAK PEEK AT…

  SMILING IRISH

  The Summerhaven Trio #2

  (Tierney and Burr’s story)

  (Excerpt from SMILING IRISH, The Summerhaven Trio #2, by Katy Regnery. All rights reserved.)

  CHAPTER 1

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  Tierney Haven opened her eyes slowly, rolling to her side to look at the digital clock on her bedside table, but it was as dark as the rest of her room. Reaching over, she tapped the clock with her fingers, but nothing happened.

  Thunder cracked and rumbled outside, and lightning split the sky in jagged white streaks, brightening her room.

  Power must have gone out.

  “Anyone home? Wake up!”

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  It took her a moment to realize the banging that woke her wasn’t thunder; it was coming from downstairs. Someone was knocking on her front door, yelling for her to wake up.

  “Ian?” she mumbled, rubbing her bleary eyes and sitting up in bed as a fist slammed into the downstairs door again.

  “Open up!” yelled the voice, growly with impatience and unmistakably male.

  “Damnú,” she sighed in her mother’s native Gaelic, swinging her legs over the side of the bed as more lightning lit her room with a brief phosphorescent strike. She plucked her glasses from the bed side table and put them on. The last time someone had pounded on Tierney Haven’s door at two o’clock in the morning, it was her brother Ian on a bender. He’d show up out of the blue, after several months of living on the streets of Boston, and scared her to death.

  “Why, Ian?” she muttered as a dark heaviness filled her heart. “You were doing so well!”

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  She slipped her feet into waiting slippers and padded from the side of her bed to her bedroom door, making her way down the dark upstairs hallway to the stairs.

  “I’m coming, Ian, you diabhal!” she said, reaching for the railing.

  Four and a half months of sobriety down the drain, she thought, blinking back tears with every step she took. Four and a half months of Tierney and their brother, Rory, shepherding Ian to AA meetings and supporting his recovery. Four and a half months of hoping—every day—that Ian was closer to lifelong recovery. Four and a half months that made a person believe that four and a half months could turn into forever.

  She swiped at her useless tears and lifted her chin as she reached the tiny landing, turned, then continued downward. Crying wouldn’t help Ian. She needed to be strong now.

  He’d likely rage around her cottage for a while, drinking whatever he had with him, before breaking down in tears and finally passing out. At that point, Tierney would need to pour any remaining alcohol down the sink and hide his keys and phone. The vomiting would begin when he woke up and last for a day or two. She’d eventually need to call Rory to come and help. But not yet. She could handle things until morning, and then maybe Rory could come over for a few hours before his camp day began.

  Maybe she could get one of the docent interns to lead tours of the museum today. She hoped so, because Rory would have to get back to Summerhaven by breakfast, which meant Tierney would be back on “Ian duty” until tonight when Rory could come back and relieve her for a few hours.

  “What a fucking mess,” she muttered, stepping into her tiny living room, the hulking body of her drunk brother silhouetted by another slash of lightning in the stained-glass window on her front door. “Cic maith sa tóin atá de dlíth air.”

  You need a good kick up the arse.

  “Damnú air! Oscail an doras!” he yelled back. Damn it! Open the door!

  Oh, great. His bloody Irish was top-notch tonight…which meant he was beyond shit-faced, because his Gaelic was always best when he was on a bender. She took a deep breath, then unlocked and unbolted the door, turning the knob and pulling open the heavy Spanish-style antique door so that Ian could fall inside.

  With no outdoor light overhead, she could barely see the man in front of her, but when another bolt of lightning rent the sky, the first thing she noticed was that he had no hair. A buzz cut. And the second thing she noticed was that his unbuttoned shirt flapped open in the wind to reveal a chest covered tattoos, including one that ran from shoulder to shoulder and read, “Destroyer.”

  Ian has long hair, her horrified psyche whispered, and no tattoos.

  A hand landed on her upper chest, pushing her back with such force that she was knocked off her feet and flew backward about five feet before landing on her ass. The stranger stepped into her living room and kicked the door shut behind him, turning briefly to bolt the door before facing her.

  Thunder rumbled, and a moment later, multiple strikes of lightning through her windows lit up the man standing against the door. Tall and thickly muscled, he had no hair, a torso covered in ink, the butt of a gun peeking out from the waistband of his soaked jeans, and bare feet.

  “Where are you?” he demanded, whipping his head right, then left.

  Pitch darkness settled on the room again, the wind howling outside and the rain beating on the terra-cotta roof of the old caretaker’s cottage.

  Tierney, still sitting on the floor where she’d fallen, frozen with fear, stayed silent.

  “Where…the fuck…are you?” he yelled breathlessly into the black room.

  Did he realize that she’d fallen when he pushed her? She drew her legs to her chest, making herself as small as possible.

  “I know…you’re here!” he bellowed, his voice breathless and his speech stilted. “You opened…the fucking door!”

  Scooting back as quietly as she could, Tierney’s back touched her bookcase, and she slid slightly to the left, into the corner created by the bookcase and stairs. Meanwhile, she heard the stranger, who must have pulled his gun from his waistband, cock the hammer back.

  “Aiteann.”

  He growled the word, his voice low and furious. Tierney sucked in a breath, shivering. Aiteann was the most vulgar of all Irish curse words, and although she’d heard it once or twice before during summer trips to Ireland with her family, it had never been directed at her.

  Thunder blasted outside again, and Tier
ney wrapped her arms around her legs and bent her head, curling into a ball and staying as still as possible. Maybe he wouldn’t see her when the lightning followed a second from now and lit up the room.

  As she huddled in the corner, waiting for the inevitable flash of light, a million terrible scenarios flooded her mind. Murder. Rape. Assault. Kidnapping. But what made her heart clench with desperation was the thought of never seeing her brothers again, of never hearing her father’s voice or smelling her mother’s perfume, Inis, ever again. Had she been a good enough sister? A faithful and loving daughter? Did they all know how much she loved them?

  The lightning cracked, tearing open the sky and illuminating her cottage.

  “There you are!”

  A hand landed on her head, the fingers tangling in her hair and yanking hard. She cried out in pain, her knees scraping on the brick floor as he dragged her into the middle of the room, shoving her against the side of the couch before releasing her.

  “Don’t you dare…scream.”

  Scream? What was the point? She lived alone on thousands of acres of state land with no neighbors for miles. Even if she did scream, no one would hear. Her heart thundered in her ears, and her eyes burned with tears, but she bit the insides of her cheeks, refusing to cry, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a single sob.

  Though it was dark as coal all around her, she could tell that he was squatting down in front of her. She could hear him breathing, shallow and loud, the whistle of a wheeze as he exhaled.

  “Where’s…the phone?” he demanded.

  Her breath caught in her throat, making it impossible to answer.

  “Where…is it?” he yelled at close range.

  Speak, Tierney, speak!